


These Cracked Portraits

by Windona



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Original character is giving Norman's mother character, Osborn family history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:18:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windona/pseuds/Windona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lillian goes to meet her grandson, Harry Lyman. There are some thoughts about the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Cracked Portraits

Lillian looked over the number she had looked up online. The digits glared at her, accusing and soft with hope and fear. They swirled, mocking. Her palms sweat just looking at them, and a thousand possibilities ran through her mind.

But it had to be done. She waited far too long, and needed to try now before it was too late. She punched in the phone number, and listened to every ring with trepidation before it was answered.

“Hello?” the voice said on the other end. Gathering her courage, Lillian explained who she was and why she was calling.

* * *

 

Lillian Green had been born into old money, with a family business that sprawled far and a silver spoon in her mouth from childhood. She went to the most prestigious school, and was one of the few women who went to college. Her family did not expect her to run their business like they expected her brother to, but to catch a suitable husband with the added prestige of a college degree.

It was when she was a doe eyed twenty she met her future husband. He was a few years older than her, and had an interesting hairstyle. Broad shouldered, tall, and with a twinkle in his eye he struck Lillian as quite handsome indeed. He asked, “May I have this dance?” with the most gracious manners.

Blushing, Lillian said, “Of course. But may I have your name first?”

Bashfully, the man responded, “Where are my manners! I am Ambrose Osborn.”

* * *

 

The call had lasted for a while, ending in an invitation. Lillian was eager to accept.

So she started packing, carefully folding her clothes into her luggage. She had printed out maps and instructions, and a list of people who she was to call or text upon her arrival to New York City.

Shaking her head, Lillian chuckled as she made sure the cell phone Annalise insisted she had was in her purse. She made sure the charger was in her luggage as well. While she had lived most of her life without such things, if it put Annalise at ease then she would use it to its fullest.

Mohinder entered her bedroom, looking carefully at her. “New York has a reputation as a wild city. Are you sure you do not need me to accompany you?”

Smiling, Lillian responded, “I think I can handle myself. I have handled worse, after all. I am all packed up and ready to go.”

It was not long before Mohinder drove her to the train station, and he wished her good luck with a kiss.

* * *

 

At first, her relationship with Ambrose had been nothing but wonderful. He married her, but let her finish her degree in English. “A smart woman for a successful man,” he would say, especially as her stomach swelled thanks to pregnancy her senior year of college.

Ambrose’s business took off, those early times. He seemed to be making money hand over fist. Her parents were so pleased that she married a wealthy man from a wealthy family, and such an upright gentleman. She gave him a son and heir, and he was initially over the moon with young Norman.

That rapidly changed when Ambrose’s greatest invention had been stolen in a case of corporate espionage.

As the fortune dwindled, so did the smiles and charm. The only thing to increase was the amount of debt they had, and the alcohol Ambrose consumed.

Lillian soon found herself and her young son at the mercy of a man with no compunctions against beating or locking up his own family.

* * *

 

Lillian went down to New York City by herself, careful on the journey and sure to message those at home when she arrived at her station. Her cane pattered on the sidewalk, and for a moment she wished she had brought someone with her. She shook her head out of the fantasy, though, and continued onward.

This was something she had to do alone.

Navigating New York’s streets was difficult. While she had gone downtown to shop in her youth, the years had not been kind to the city. Normal urban growth had occurred, but so had superhuman battles which rocked the landscape. Many old buildings had been destroyed and replaced.

It was hard to believe that such a thing could happen in this world. Yet things changed all the time, and with a rapidness few would believe. Sadly, there were some things that never would.

* * *

 

When Ambrose started drinking, he started getting violent. He would start by demeaning them, then screaming, and then hitting. Sometimes he would apologize the next day, and say it would never happen again. At first, Lillian believed him. She convinced herself they were just going through a rough spot.

But when he targeted Norman, Lillian would always try to get in the way. She wanted to keep her son out of it.

Sadly, she was less than successful on that front. She would have bottles thrown at her and be punched in the stomach as punishment for preventing him from ‘teaching the boy a lesson’.

The night her husband locked Norman in a closet, she wanted nothing more than to sneak out with a key to free him. But Ambrose’s large, lumbering form in their bed prevented her from doing so.

When Norman was thirteen, she missed her period. Then she missed it again. She got tested, but hid it from Ambrose. She traded letters with her younger sister instead.

Gladys Jones, nee Green, had married a bright young doctor who managed to be rather well off. People scoffed at the interracial couple, but the two truly were happy. It was with this hope that Lillian informed them, and traded letters.

Finally, they hatched their plan. Lillian confessed her pregnancy to her husband; he was less than pleased, but sober enough to not get violent. Then, the plan was set in action.

Lillian convinced Ambrose to let Dr. Jones treat her. The fact that he would do so for free was the major selling point. And the week before she went into labor, she stayed at her sister’s house.

Dr. Jones pronounced her child stillborn as he held the crying infant. Ambrose had not even bothered to come for the event, making further deception unnecessary. The forms were filled out, and Lillian held her son Darryl for only a few hours. Then she went back home, and faced her husband’s sneer as he said how glad he was that there was not another leech on the family.

Lillian let the words flow over her. Her second son was safely adopted, and would be kept secret for a few months until her sister could realistically make it look like she adopted a baby without suspicion.

It was her greatest shame that she could not save her eldest son in the same way.

* * *

 

Looking in the dingy mirror of her cheap motel room, Lillian powdered her face and straightened up her hair. The blonde had long since given way to gray, but her green eyes were as sharp as ever. Lillian took a moment of vanity to appreciate her looks, making certain she was presentable.

After all, she wanted this meeting to go well. It would not be long before she would see her grandson in person for the first time.

She walked over to her bed with a file on it, and frowned. Dear Annalise had done some research on the lad, trying to give her and idea about who she was to meet. Yet the information seemed so scattered, contradictory, and uncertain.

Harold Osborn either was the Green Goblin, or had delusions of being so. He was a criminal, a loving father, a good man, all or none of the above.

Well, Lillian would find out exactly who he was today. Given their conversation on the phone, she was rather optimistic.

* * *

 

As the years went on, the effects of Ambrose’s uncontrollable behavior became more and more evident. The house began to fall apart without repair. Norman would do what he could as a matter of pride, but with all their money going to Ambrose’s drink, that never ended up being much. Lillian took on small jobs, as did Norman. They earned enough money to eat and pay the taxes on the house, but not much more than that.

Every day, Norman’s resentment grew. It seemed obvious that it would be directed at Ambrose; every hit, kick, and horrid word would naturally make anyone resentful. What surprised Lillian was the increased resentment at herself.

On some level, Lillian thought she deserved it. She was unable to help her husband return to his charming self. She was too weak to protect Norman. She started to believe she earned every hit.

One night changed everything.

It was a rare family dinner shortly before Norman would graduate high school, with the scrounged up food on weathered old china. Ambrose had a bottle of whiskey at hand. He looked over at Norman, and said, “Did you pick up my prescription, boy?”

Norman had nodded. “Yes father. Here,” he said in an uninterested voice, handing over the pills.

Lillian had frowned. “The doctor said you shouldn’t drink when taking pills for high blood pressure, dear.”

Ambrose had scowled. He threw his pills back into his mouth, washing it down with a swig of whiskey. He growled out, “I do what I want, woman. Don’t see you helping around this place much.”

Head down, Lillian returned to eating her meal. She was desperate to avoid a confrontation, even though that was all but inevitable. Ambrose got redder in the face as he worked his way through his bottle of Daniels, ranting about how Norman had better succeed when he started college.

After dinner Lillian quickly made her escape to start mending clothes while Norman went somewhere with his textbooks. It was not long afterwards that she heard a loud thump.

Running down the stairs, Lillian vaguely wondered what was being thrown this time. Yet there was no further sound of furniture or appliances being thrown. It was when she reached the bottom of the stairs that she gasped.

“Norman! Call 911!” she shouted as she stared at the prone body of her husband.

Norman did as he was told, but it was too late. Ambrose was pronounced dead of a heart attack by the medics who arrived.

After that, life was a whirlwind. The funeral was held on the dilapidated Osborn estate, with minimal fanfare and frills. Lillian started the process of selling said estate and moving in with her sister and secret son.

Norman graduated high school, and used the meager money he received from inheritance to move down and begin college at ESU.  Lillian tried to call him, only to realize he had no listed number. Any letters Lillian sent were not responded to.

She never spoke to her oldest son again. After seeing the toxicology report on Ambrose, she was not sure she wanted to.

Even if it had been stated to be a tragic mix up at the pharmacy that had given warfarin to Ambrose instead of his normal medication, Lillian was not so sure. Norman had picked up the prescription that day. And given Norman’s interest in science and how much he wanted to go into biochemistry, Lillian would not have been surprised if her oldest son had chosen a medicine known to react badly with heavy drinking.

* * *

 

The Coffee Bean was right where the map said. It was a small, cozy little place with an outdoor seating area. Lillian was momentarily surprised at this. She expected someone who grew up the son of a billionaire to have more ostentatious tastes. Yet again, she had to remind herself that her grandson was not a typical son of a billionaire.

She ordered a tea and cheese Danish, and sat down at one of the outside tables. An emerald scarf around her neck marked her. It was not long before a young man slid into the chair across from her.

Lillian could not help the hitch in her breath or the smile that bloomed on her face. He had the prominent Osborn nose and wavy russet hair, but the jawline and the shape of the eyes was all hers.

“Lillian?” he asked, hesitantly.

Feeling close to tears, she had only one response. “Harry? My grandson? I have so much to tell you.”

* * *

 

Recovering from what happened with Ambrose took a long time. She blamed herself as much as she blamed him, and still loved her deceased husband. Her sister and brother-in-law’s patience and help was invaluable, helping her heal and move onward.

Eventually, Lillian was able to work as a literary teacher. It was not long before she met Mohinder Sadana. It was even less time before they married, and she had her third child at the ripe old age of forty-two.

She would keep her eyes on the newspapers, especially after hearing about the rise of OsCorp. After so many years, she doubted Norman would ever contact her again. It was only from a birth announcement a year after she had her daughter Annalise that she realized she was a grandmother.

It would be years before she gathered the courage to contact him. Yet in the end, it was worth it.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warfarin has been used for decades. This is the list of drugs with harmful interactions with alcohol I used: http://pubs.niaaa.nih.gov/publications/Medicine/medicine.htm
> 
> The impetus for this work was how, in the comics, both Harry and Norman's mother seem to barely have existed. Harry's mom didn't get a maiden name until recently. Norman's mother never had a name. In fact, we have no idea if Norman's mother is alive or not in canon. So I used that as a jumping off point to tell her story. Thanks to Sarah531 for her encouragement and idea bouncing!


End file.
